


From the Mixed-Up Files of the Russian Cafe

by laughingacademy



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-21
Updated: 2010-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:24:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingacademy/pseuds/laughingacademy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The following text consists of descriptions of items in the Cafe archives, and extracts from a hitherto unpublished interview with Illya Kuryakin, founder and chief designer of the House of Vanya and a longtime Cafe patron...</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Mixed-Up Files of the Russian Cafe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [st_crispins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_crispins/gifts).



> Originally posted as part of [the 2010 “Down the Chimney Affair” fic exchange.](http://community.livejournal.com/muncle/798842.html)
> 
>  **Story Prompts:** villain from the series; an interesting [or even exotic?] place
> 
> The Russian Cafe is the restaurant where Napoleon Solo is reunited with Illya Kuryakin in “The Fifteen Years Later Affair.” For the purposes of this story I’ve nicked the address and interior decor of the real-world Russian Tea Room, which is located near the corner of Seventh Avenue and 57th Street.

_Since reopening its doors in 2006, the management of the Russian Cafe has been soliciting memorabilia and anecdotes connected to the restaurant’s history. The following text consists of descriptions of items in the Cafe archives, and extracts from a hitherto unpublished interview with Illya Kuryakin, founder and chief designer of the House of Vanya and a longtime Cafe patron, conducted shortly after the establishment’s 1996 renovation._

>   
>  _From a manila envelope labeled “New Year’s Eve, 1964”:_ A black and white photograph shows two couples in evening wear sharing one of the banquettes in the main dining room. On the left, an immaculately coiffed blonde and a jut-jawed, dark-haired man in a tuxedo are grinning sardonically as they share a champagne toast. At the far right, Illya Kuryakin, jacket off, shirtsleeves rolled up, is leaning forward on his crossed forearms, brow furrowed. Next to him is Marion Raven, the well known photographer; his jacket is draped over her shoulders, and she is touching his upper arm and looking at him with a small, rueful smile.

I wasn’t a Cafe regular when this picture was taken, but I think everyone else in the shot was. The lady — I use the word advisedly — on the left, Angelique, used to stop by for tea after a visit to Bergdorf Goodman or Henri Bendel. Occasionally, she would meet my friend and colleague, Napoleon — that’s the gentleman saluting her — for lunch or dinner. I have to admit, they were a striking couple.

 **And that’s Marion Raven sitting next to you?**

Yes. She was a habitué of the Cafe long before we met, and first brought me here for a late supper after we saw Balanchine’s _Nutcracker_ at Lincoln Center. As I recall, at the end of the meal I asked her if she only loved me for my accent.

 **What did she say?**

She said no, she liked my arms, too, and that we were close enough in height that she could kiss me standing up without getting a stiff neck.

After that, I’d stop by once in a while, usually on a weekend when I’d spent the afternoon down the block at Steinway Hall, practicing on one of their pianos.

 **Marion Raven also photographed the first Vanya runway show, didn’t she?**

Yes, she did. We were no longer an item but we’d remained friends. At that point I didn’t have a proper atelier yet, just an office and a workroom in a building in the upper thirties. Marion talked me into holding the show at the Cafe, saying that I might as well play up ‘the Russian angle,’ as she called it, and somehow persuaded the owners to let me use the ballroom. She had a lot of fun figuring out how to set up her lights to make the best use of the mirrored walls. During the show, the models would do their walk, go downstairs to the staff’s break room to change, and come back up for their next turn. I was convinced that someone would trip and break a leg, but we all got through it unscathed. Afterwards, there was a reception in what’s now the Bear Lounge. This was before the renovation, so we didn’t have to deal with that juggling bear aquarium that’s up there now.

The collection sold out, the business took off, and I became a regular customer of the Cafe. I found it was a good place to bring prospective clients. Nowadays, they usually seat me upstairs in the Hearth Lounge, the one with all the wood panelling. I suspect they’re worried about a replay of an incident that occurred in 1983, and want me where I would cause the least damage.

>   
>  _From an envelope labelled “1983”:_ A color Polaroid, grainy and oddly angled, shows Illya Kuryakin, in a white shirt with black suit and tie, hanging in mid-air. He has apparently jumped off a chair or table, the better to launch himself into the punch-up just visible along the photo’s bottom edge.

 _Chjort!_ I beg your pardon, you caught me by surprise. I had no idea there were any pictures of this. My God, look at that. Is there any way I can get a copy?

 **What happened here?**

This was the day I got back in touch with Napoleon, who was in the other picture. That’s him, there, being held by those two men. I can’t go into all the details, but the short version is that he came here looking for me, unaware that there were people looking for him. Just after I’d spotted him at the bar, his pursuers caught up with him and attempted to walk him out at gunpoint. He objected, and old reflexes kicked in. You know, it had been almost ten years since I’d last been in a proper fight, and probably as long or longer for Napoleon, but we acquitted ourselves pretty well. I had to leave before my food arrived, though, and I lost the client I’d been wooing. Then to top things off, I wound up punching Napoleon myself not ten minutes later when he brought up a rather painful episode from the past. Fortunately he didn’t take it personally, and we soon re-established our old rapport.

 **If you don’t mind my asking, what did you and Mister...?**

Solo.

 **What line of work were you and Mr. Solo in?**

We worked for the U.N.C.L.E., or “Uncle.”

 **I thought that was a humanitarian non-governmental organization, like UNICEF? Were you often faced with armed thugs?**

Ah, well, our work took us to a lot of trouble spots, and on occasion we’d have to deal with the troublemakers.

 _[At this point, the conversation was interrupted by a beeping noise from the inside breast pocket of Mr. Kuryakin’s jacket. He apologized, and left.]_


End file.
